Royal Affairs
by bmw.remixed
Summary: [Byakuyacentric] Between a Shinigami and his zanpakutou, the only conflict that arises is over domination.
1. The Queen is Dead, Long Live the Queen

Life in the Kuchiki house had always been centered around status – their status as a noble house, their status as Shinigami in the Gotei 13, and each individual's status in the house itself, from the stable boy (back when they had stables) to the Head of the Clan himself – and it didn't change when a new heir was born. In many ways, Byakuya Kuchiki's early life resembled those of other boys his age, wanting to spend more time outdoors than inside, getting a new scrape or bruise every hour, refusing to go to bed on time… but there were also those things that separated him from the rest. Countless lessons on etiquette, language, arithmetic, history, people and places, kidou and hadou incantations, where to put your spoon after finishing your soup, which foot to start with when going out, which foot to start with when going _in..._. endless lists and lectures straggling on for hours at a time.

Contrary to popular belief, Byakuya was not a perfect child. More than a few times he could remember being called down to explain his absence to a tutor, or a the food that had mysteriously disappeared from the kitchen only to reappear months later and stinking in the advisor's closet.

Byakuya wasn't a perfect child, but he was a perfect noble. Growing up surrounded by people obsessed with status, he looked down upon anyone who wasn't an immediate member of the Kuchiki family. Clan advisors, distant cousins, members of other noble houses – like the Shihouin. Even among his immediate family, the only ones he did admire were his parents.

He had known of his parents' strength, both in personality and on the battlefield. But to the young Byakuya, his father was more a distant mythical figure than a person, having died when Byakuya was so young. All he knew of Tezuko Kuchiki was of his legacy of turning the Eleventh Division into the most combat orientated division in the entire Gotei 13. On the other hand, his mother was the most prominent figure in his life – a warm compassionate woman perfectly suited to her position as the Captain of the Fourth Division.

Despite her soft exterior, Hanaka Kuchiki was a strong woman and strict in her morals. She had stood by her husband when he ruled over the rest of the clan, and defended her husband against his opponents, both in the council and on the battlefield. When he passed away, no one questioned her succession as the leader of the Kuchiki. Nothing in the Kuchiki household went without her notice and approval; the servants obeyed her without a second thought, the lesser Kuchiki members revered her from the corners, and Byakuya himself – the prideful adolescent he was – had grudgingly admitted her onto a pedestal as a pinnacle of perfection.

She was the first woman in his life, the first person he had wrapped his ambition and love around. He remembered her love and support in every aspect of his life, from playing with him in the elaborate gardens of the Kuchiki mansion and kissing his bruises when he tripped over his own feet as a child, to her chastisements went he came home dressed as an urchin covered in mud and grime.

In Byakuya Kuchiki's adolescent mind, no one will ever be able compare to the woman who had given birth to him.

* * *

The funeral took place in late summer. By then, the flowers were already gone and the nights had begun to empty of the endless chorus of frogs and crickets. The atmosphere was damp, without even a beam of sunlight to refresh the day. Time seemed to slow as well, in reverence to the final rest of a respected spirit.

As per tradition, Byakuya was expected to stay near the shrine, overly decorated with garlands of wilting flowers forced to live past their prime and sheets of obnoxiously colored silks that tried and failed to breathe life into a ceremony of death. There had been hundreds of mourners who came that day, a flood of elegant women with painted faces, stone countenanced men, and battle scarred warriors who refused to let go of their zanpakutous that came up to the shrine to offer their blessings to her and their condolences to him.

By sundown, he had lost count of how many people had bent down to look him in the eyes and smile that forced grimace of a smile as if they knew his pain. He didn't need their pity, he felt it wasn't sincere enough for him. They didn't know her like he knew her, they didn't love her the way he did, they didn't know the bond he shared with his mother… they didn't know what it was like having something that had been there all his life, a constant, ripped to shreds by one of those Hollows.

Byakuya didn't allow himself to cry as the funeral pyre was lit; his mother wouldn't have liked it, and it would've warranted another lecture about maintaining self-image from her. Only when the smoke blew thick and acrid across the gathering, did he allow himself to succumb to the choking lump in his throat and the pain in his heart.

Of course, he blamed it on the smoke – everyone did.

* * *

The days following the funeral were a whirl of activity, to put it in the cliché. Byakuya found himself dragged from one meeting with a clan advisor to another, each one repeating the same monologue over and over again about familial duty, continuing the legacy of his parents, brining honor to the family other seemingly trivial matters. The councilors were like scavengers, picking at him in his emotionally battered state, requesting this, suggesting that, pushing all remnants of the woman whose seat he had taken at the meeting room table out of their minds.

Just when he thought he was about to go crazy with family finances, arranged alliances, and the impartial attitude they spoke about his mother (after all, he was a kingdom without a ruler, lost within himself), she appeared.

First in glimpses in his usually unimaginative dreams, a ghostly figure watching him, scrutinizing him from the back of his mind, then beside him in the corners of his vision, disappearing when he turned around. Her form was human and annoyed, her dress was formal, consisting of layer over layer of expensive material.

And she was _wet._

Clothes almost transparent with water, the expensive looking cloth coagulating into a pile at her feet. Her hair stuck to her face and her exposed back, and she kept hugging herself absently, as if in a half-hearted attempted to keep warm. Her movements were human-like, from the way she blinked as the water dripped into her eyes, and the impatient way she glanced from side to side, as if waiting for something.

But even all that, she remained distinctly ethereal and her eyes remained disturbingly empty. Her movements were a little too calculated, her posture a little too stiff, and her features too perfect.

He eventually dismissed her as a stress and grief induced hallucination.

* * *

Months later, in the midst of winter, with a storm echoing his emptiness outside, he saw her again. As he went over the budget expenses for the past week one night, he felt a light breeze in the room and the scent of flowers wafted in the air. Byakuya looked up, confused.

There she was, in all her finery, transparent, the lamps across the room reduced to wavering flickers through her image. She was dripping, beads of water rolling off her skin to fall on the floor below.

"One gets tired of the rain after a while, you know."

A voice that touched the inner reaches of his mind, light but sarcastic, quiet but hiding a sharp edge.

"…Who are you?" he asked hesitantly, voice trailing off. He still wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not.

"Me? I'm you, of course. I _had_ expected you to know."

A feral grin with painted lips.

"I'm the best and worst of you, twisted, juggled, distorted into a caricature of what you really are."

Byakuya saw her glance sideways at the properly neglected sword of an academy student at Byakuya's side. Following her gaze, he gasped out loud, "You're my Zanpakutou! Have you come to tell me your name?"

His question was met by laughter. Shaking the water from her bangs, she laughed, "Please. A little fledgling like you thinks he can have my power? Why, you've barely hit puberty! One shouldn't give children such dangerous toys to play with."

Feigning disinterest to cover his disappointment, he uttered dismissively, "Then I see no reason for this meeting, and there is much I need to do."

"My, my, such a dutiful little boy you are! I'm sure mother would be – excuse me, would _have been_ -- so proud!"

"It is expected of me as the Kuchiki heir."

He returned to the rows and columns of numbers, but before he could lose himself in the methodic mind numbing work of the calculations, her voice pierced through his haze again.

"Well, it seems to me your mother didn't well verse you in the area of manners when dealing with your superiors."

"My mother was –" he began indignantly.

"—So you do have a personality!" She gasped dramatically.

Mouth agape, still halfway through his previous sentence, Byakuya shot off his harshest glare.

"Excuse me, my apologies. It wasn't proper for me to blame her. After all, you _are_ a Kuchiki." She sighed dramatically. "And the Kuchiki don't believe in having superiors."

"That's not true, generations of Kuchikis have served in the Gotei 13 with very good reputations."

"And yet hey all walked around with – to use the vernacular – sticks up their asses. Everyone else is just too _unworthy _for you and your pure, interbred, blood. A bit of an oxymoron, no?"

Byakuya glanced tiredly at her, having very little patience for arguing the attitudes, actions, or preferences of his ancestors, and finally sighed exasperatedly, "If you aren't here to introduce yourself, then what exactly are you here for?"

"To save my garden, of course." She stated as if it was the most obvious reason in the world, "The rain is flooding my garden. The plants are all drowning." Her tone had softened.

"Your garden?" asked Byakuya, reluctantly intrigued.

"My garden," she affirmed. "My realm, my kingdom, your soul. I watch over it, and it sustains me in return."

She looked up absentmindedly, and mutters, almost to herself, "It's never rained like this before. Drizzles now and then, enough to keep the soil balanced. But never this deluge. It's like the entirety of my kingdom is fallen apart." She glanced at him, and raised her voice for effect, and arched in a fake swoon. "The pillar that held the sky has been destroyed, and the sky is crashing down around me!"

She broke from her melodramatic monologue, and gave him a wide-eyed stare, twisting her neck around to look at him. Instead of providing her with the innocent countenance she was going for, it only served to make him realize how inhuman she was; dark empty eyes and white as death skin.

"Make the rain stop… please?"

Byakuya stared dumbstruck; he seemed to be doing that a lot during this conversation.

The waterlogged figure in front of him sighed, and bent down to sit on his desk. Her previous teasing countenance was gone, and she looked at him now with all seriousness.

"You're _far_ too young to drown yourself in grief, Byakuya. With _my_ power, you have an illustrious career ahead of you. Instead, you live in the past and your memories."

He was _not, _after all, it has only been two months since the funeral.He closed his eyes, and defiantly answered, "I am only paying my mother the respect she deserves by keeping her alive in my heart and my memories."

"Is it your memories keeping her alive, or her memory keeping you alive?"

Before he can answer, she whirled around, flinging illusionary drops of water about the room. Her voice was suddenly harsh, a savage light in her eyes. "How do you expect to become a Captain if you cannot even obtain your Shikai?" The question flung at him without warning.

"What?"

"Don't be stupid. I can see your dreams and your fears, and I can see you picturing yourself with the Captain's cloak. You _do_ want to be Captain, don't you? So, I'm asking, how will you obtain the rank of Captain if you haven't obtained Shikai?"

"I haven't even graduated from the academy yet, there is time. Most people learn their Zanpakutou's name only after they enter the thirteen divisions, "he said defensively.

"But you aren't most people, are you? Byakuya Kuchiki, son of Hanaka and R Kuchiki, two of the most illustrious Soul Reapers in the history of the Seireitei. You have _such_ a legacy to live up to; to surpass, yet your passive spirit – your real problem – prevents you from doing so. Where is infamous Kuchiki attitude I have seen with your ancestors? You ex--"

"My ancestors?"

He couldn't help but interrupt.

Glaring at him, she impatiently growled, "Yes, reborn countless times in countless forms with countless names, but it has always been my spirit in their swords."

She waved her hand dismissively.

"Enough about that, don't try to change the subject." Pinning him with another intense gaze, she mused out loud, "You expect things to happen to you with time. Like how life will revert back to before the death of Hanaka-san. The white Shuhaksho of the Captain to just be handed to you like your meals. Tch, your family has spoiled you. You don't know about hard work."

Insulted, he argued back, "You don't think I know about hard work? I am the youngest in the advanced classes, I am the Kuchiki head, and I –"

"Fine, fine, I admit it; you do have natural talent and luck. And until now you have relied on those, cruising your way through life. It isn't as if you had to struggle to excel in the academy or to sit at this desk. Compared to what you are capable of, this is nothing."

Seeing the unresponsive look on his face, she sighed, "Perhaps it is better if I show you."

The world suddenly lurched sickeningly, and he felt a wrenching sensation in his chest before the ground disappeared beneath him. He fell for what seemed like hours, but he couldn't tell; the darkness rushed past him, an endless cycle of repetitive muted colors, swirling sluggishly into another to create a murky black abyss. Suddenly he found himself facedown in wet grass, the smell of the muddy terrain permeating his senses. Driving rain assaulted him when he opened his eyes, and even drearier conditions greeted him as he was able to stand up.

He was in the remnants of a lavish garden, surrounded by ancient gnarled trees spreading their arms around him, extending farther than he could see. The trees were bare, with barely the hint of flower buds decorating their naked arms. Elsewhere, the plants and vines were drooping, weighed down with their bloated leaves that flaccid stems could no longer support.

Whatever was living was now being drowned by the rain.

"Well? Answer my question. How do you expect to attain the position of Captain?" Surprised, he spun around to see the strange woman shielding her face from the rain, brows furrowed in a mock of annoyance.

"You cannot possibly rely on your Kidou and Hadou alone."

Another dramatic sigh.

"My presence is neglected here, my power is wasted, my name remains undiscovered, and my existence – and thusly yours – will be short-lived. Unless, of course, you submit yourself to me."

She peered at him sideways, as if expecting.

Byakuya's brows furrowed in confusion. "If you are truly the spirit of my Zanpakutou, then you are supposed to submit yourself to me, and your powers become mine. That is the way it works, the Shinigami commands the Zanpakutou."

"You believe you can dominate over me?" She laughed, a harsh mocking sound. "You, who cannot even defeat a mere Hollow? I see no reason to lend my abilities to you."

She slowly made her way towards the edge of the forest, fighting against the wind and rain, her absurdly inappropriate attire snagging on the rocks and trailing in the dirt; but she took no notice. Laying one pale hand on the trunk of a tree, she whispered, "These trees represent your growth and development, Byakuya. Look at them! They are bare, barely coming out of their winter slumber! It seems an awfully long time since Spring has come."

She turned around again.

"It is true for some avatars to just give their name after a period of familiarity with their God, but I do not give my power so easily. Knowledge is easily given away, but difficult to take back."

"Then what do I have to do?"

"Prove you are worthy; you _believe_ it, but can you support those beliefs? You might have the skills and the knowledge, but do you have the spirit?" Her voice rose, and the hairs stood on the back of his neck. "Live up to the legacies of your forefathers and surpass them in strength and notoriety. Assert your 'dominance' on others first before you do so on me. Rule the clan with an iron fist; ignore those councilors, they're nothing but windbags, blowing hot air around with nothing to back it up; train hard, become strong. It is what your mother would've wished for you."

She stopped and looked at him straight in the eye, her gaze piercing.

"Most importantly, do not submit to anyone else. Your loyalty and your submission shall lie only with me."

"And then you will give me your name?"

"We'll see," she answered airily, a guarantee lacking in her reply. She turned and began to walk away. "Now there is nothing else to discuss at this moment. Goodbye, my little deity of death. But hear this, I do not wish to wait for sun for much longer."

Before he could voice a protest, she disappeared from view, and he found himself facing those rows and columns of numbers again. He glanced at the clock, only a few minutes since he last checked; the entire encounter with her had only taken a few minutes, yet it remained deeply ingrained in his mind.

The only indication of her presence was a fading damp spot on the wood where she had stood.

_Prove you are worthy._

The words she spoke echoed in his mind.

_Live up to the legacies—_

_Surpass them –_

_Assert– _

_Rule—_

_Ignore –_

_Train—_

The long list of imperatives rang in his head.

_It is what your mother would've wished for you._

But no matter how she aggravated him, no matter how her demands daunted him, Byakuya knew he would follow her wishes.

He gave the list of expenses one final peruse and gently placed it on the table, ready to retire for the night. As he rose from his spot, he picked up the family portrait sitting on his desk. A faded black and white, of him as a baby and his parents, it was taken decades ago, in the midst of his father's occupation as the head of the Clan, and it had sat on that desk for that long.

As he stared at the frozen reflections of his parents, his gaze fell on his mother. A soft, resigned smile lighted Hanaka's face, and a gentle glint her eyes, gazing lovingly back at him.

"I met her today, mother."

_She wasn't anything like you told me. _

His lip twitched in the semblance of a grin.

_But I will follow her anyway… _

_Not because I have no choice, but because your expectations of me live on in her. _

_But don't worry._

"She will never replace you."


	2. Political Union: For the Sake of Duty

Actually, I finished this AGES ago. Just never got around to posting it. '

Good news peoples, this baby's got a plot.

**

* * *

**

**Royal Affairs**

**Two**

**Political Union For the Sake of Duty**

* * *

Sixteen years, four months and twenty-five days after their first encounter (she was the one who counted, not him) and also three days after he was promoted to the Eleventh Seat of his division (his Captain counted this one), he was assigned his first Menos Grande mission.

It was a joint assignment, split between his and the division's Seventh Seat; the original intent being he was to immobilize the large hollow with his Hadou and his superior would finish it off with his fire-based Zanpakutou – rumored to be quite impressive.

The opposite could be said of the wielder of the sword unless one was talking in terms of size. Giten Mushuken was a big burly man who held one of the two positions of the Seventh Seat and had a rough, uncivilized nature. Any conversation with him was met with guffawing laughter comments that would put a sailor's vocabulary to shame. Shaggy hair mixed with an even shaggier beard to frame his face; the sleeves of his shuhakusho rolled up and secured at his shoulders to reveal grotesquely hairy arms riddled with veins and bulging muscles. A cigarette ever present betweens his lips, perfuming his words with the acrid smell of smoke

Byakuya wondered how such a revolting specimen of humanity could obtain a higher rank that he.

Luckily for him, it wouldn't be a problem for long.

* * *

The pouring rain and apocalyptic winds of the monsoon assaulted them relentlessly as they arrived in the real world. Unfazed, Giten sauntered out of the portal.

The look on his face just oozed overconfidence. A smug grin fixed on his face, one stubby finger fervently rubbing his scraggly chin.

"Just stand back, Pretty-boy. There's no need to get your fucking high and mighty robes dirty over this one." He laughed, and rubbed his nose, the cartilage cracking unpleasantly. "That ugly motherfucker doesn't stand a chance against me. Watch, this'll be over before you can say shyunpo."

With a shout, he wrenched his blade from its sheath.

"Lash!"

Byakuya braced himself for the overwhelming rush of energy that accompanied a Shikai release – there was no way he'd let such a cretin's _anything_ catch him off guard -- but it never came. He glanced at Giten, only to see him holding the skeleton of a sword, the hilt tangling bladeless, face blank with disbelief.

"Aw, fuck."

The rain.

A little insignificant thing like rain had rendered him weaponless, defenseless, and utterly useless.

"Goddamn it, I'm not letting this shitty weather costing me my seat to that bitch Moira," he growled to himself, the cigarette twitching in his annoyance.

Turning to Byakuya, he gestured at the distant Hollow, "That fucking Menos is _mine_. Got it? It's gonna prove to the Cap'n I'm better than any 4th division transfer."

He plucked the cigarette from between his lips and dropped it to the ground, forgetting about it as soon as it left his hand.

"So don't you worry about getting your hair messed up, pretty-boy, your ass is gonna stay right where it is while I take care of that ugly motherfucker."

Before Byakuya could say anything to dissuade him, Giten had run ahead, screaming out a Hadou spell as he approached the creature. The resulting explosion only seemed to make the winds more vehement in their rage, roaring through the trees and flinging Byakuya's hair into his eyes uncomfortably.

The Menos was unaffected.

It looked down stupidly, the masked face searching for the source of the intrusion to its destructive feeding.

It saw Giten.

* * *

From where he stood, he heard the screams – unnaturally high pitched for such a burly man , felt the cracking of the bones in the core of his soul, and reached out for the spiritual pressure which suddenly dissipated around him.

Over the treetops, the Menos was calmly ripping his ex-superior's body into pieces with its teeth.

* * *

Now alone, Byakuya stared down at the creature, a permanent grin set in bone on its face, the characteristic imp-like nose, and the eyes that had stared at him with hunger. Its foreign reiatsu doubled as it absorbed his late superior's powers, painfully prodding him from all sides.

His shyunpo carried him towards its feet, barely avoiding exposed roots and branches that seek to block his path. Twigs dragged at his skin and clothes, and the rain soaked the ground, turning the once solid forest floor into a swamp.

His sword bounced off its body harmlessly, an unpleasant surprise in an even more unpleasant situation. He began to throw every Demon Arts Spell he knew at the beast, binding, destruction, explosion; nothing seemed to work.

_Well, this is quite the predicament._

Her voice was irritatingly light for compared to the gravity of the situation.

"If you do not intend to help, then please be quiet."

_Do you know why your blade does not cut?_ Again the sing-song lilt in her voice.

"The hierro," he answered flatly; it was an obvious answer.

_Is this why you keep showering it with words and fire? That didn't seem to work well for that brute who called himself a Shinigami. Really, I would ex-_

Before she could finish her thought, the Menos suddenly stopped moving. It stared stupidly ahead, focused on the pulsating reiatsu signature that was Byakuya. It opened its gaping maw, and began to gather its energy in front of it. Small points of light shot towards its mouth, gathering together and intensifying in power and brightness until the air seemed to fry with its deadly attack.

It launched the Cero, which fanned across the area in a wide beam, towards Byakuya. He turned and began to shyunpo out of the path of the beam, which was incinerating everything in its reach.

As he ran, he heard her sigh dramatically. In the back of his mind, he saw her shake her head condescendingly.

He was used to such words like those from her. Ranting monologues criticizing his character, his skills, his physical attributes were the norm. He was starting to think she just liked to hear herself talk.

He drowned her out; there were more urgent matters to deal with.

Flashing farther and farther from the Menos, not resting until he reached a clearing in the nearby woods. Pressing himself against the rough bark of the nearest tree, he reached towards his earpiece.

_What do you think you're doing?_ The question was almost hissed.

"Requesting back-up."

_Why?_

Not bothering to suppress an annoyed sigh – she would've sense it anyway – he answered, "To fight the Menos Grande by myself would be suicide."

Mirroring his annoyed sigh – albeit a bit exaggerated, she began to explain, drawing out each syllable like she was talking to a child.

_You know, it's not the hierro of the Menos that dulls your blade._

There was something in her voice, something behind the sarcasm, that urged him to listen this time.

_It's uncertainty._

She sniffed loftily.

_You haven't needed my assistance; you are a ranked officer seat, accomplishments you have done by yourself. You are more powerful without your sword that most Shinigami will ever be with their sword. You have turned a deaf ear to the snide comments uttered about the absence of a Shikai at your side. You have shown no regard for the opinions of others in their presence. Why do you abide to the rules now when you are alone against this monster?_

"Because –"

'Because it is expected', he had almost said, but realizing that she had proven her point.

Silence again.

As the Cero faded behind him, he turned reluctantly towards the hulking beast, which seemed to be more preoccupied with testing its own strength than its hunger. Channeling his spiritual energy into his blade, he charged – flashing easily through thick branches and gnarled roots which threatened to trip him.

_I want you to completely obliterate it._

The bloodthirsty cries of his sword echoed in his mind, urging him on. He could feel her excitement, tremors running up and down and length of the blade. Byakuya gripped the handle tighter, but the vibrations only came more violently.

He did his best to ignore it, and continued closing the space between him and the overgrown Hollow. Arriving at its feet, he was dwarfed by its massive size and its massive reiatsu. The white mask towered stories above his head, and its claws alone were twice his height.

Byakuya faltered; the rhythm in his steps interrupted. The blade in his hand was trembling even more fiercely now – a combination of her anticipation and his nervousness, and he could hear her impatience in his mind, yelling at him to keep moving. She wanted out.

Eyes burning and head swimming against the oppressive spiritual energy of the large Hollow, he was pushing blindly. His normally precise control over his spiritual power wavered, bursts of energy erratically spouting off from him.

The metal impacted on the hierro with a sharp smack, his hand numbing from the force of the blow. Still, the blow made no visible mar on the Menos, perhaps even less effective as before from the inexplicable trembling from the sword. Eyes widening in a combination of exasperation, confusion and panic, his grip on the weapon tightened, willing to shear through its inky dark skin.

The Menos knocked him away effortlessly.

He was sent crashing through the trees and smacked against the trunk of an elderly oak. The force of the impact stunned him, dropped him into the muddy ground. The Kenseikan had been broken in the fall, its ceramic shards gouging into his scalp and releasing rivulets of blood down his face.

_Get up._

There was blood in his hair and blood on his face – a voice in his head, bloodthirsty and impatient – mud on his uniform, mud in his wounds – dark red mixed with black, the color of decay -- and a wound in his pride.

_I told you to get up._

When there was no response, she let out a hiss of annoyance.

_Pathetic._

Without warning, he convulsed violently. He could feel _her_. She surged through him – icy and raw and _oh so deliciously violating_ -- reaching out to the trembling blade.

As if lifted by invisible strings, he felt his body rise.

The sword was now shaking violently, sending tremors down his arm, muscles straining to control.

_Let go._

"But it will –"

_Probably._

A smug grin expressed with his own lips.

_Go ahead, you know what to do._

Byakuya blinked - the strange thing was, he _did_ know.

_Then set me free!_

It was so obvious, so there all along – how did he miss it?

"Scatter --"

_Yes!_

In a vibrant flash of color, the blade disappeared.

* * *

As the last of the shockwaves from the rip in the dimensions dissipated, Byakuya found himself exhausted. His limbs felt like lead and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. He fell on the ground, no longer caring about his clothes being immaculate.

With impeccable timing, she materialized, standing above his prone from, halting his descent into blessed oblivion. Byakuya blinked at the sudden intrusion in his vision and the sudden infusion of flowery perfume that wafted over him.

"You've managed to defeat the Hollow."

"It escaped."

"An admirable accomplishment anyway."

Her compliment hung awkwardly in the space between them.

Craning his neck to look at her, he blinked in surprise.

She – no, there was a name to go with the face now (he had was so used to associating her with the third person – something he'll never really break out of) - had looked strangely docile in the moonlight; an uncharacteristic smile devoid of any malice or trickery alighting on her face. It unnerved him more than her vicious moods would have.

She bent down and reached one slim hands towards him. Instinctively, he recoiled.

A smirk ghosted over her porcelain face.

"I'm hurt, Byakuya. And here I though we had gotten so much closer."

He stiffened at the feel of her fingers grazing against his forehead to brush back his damp, sweat soaked hair. Her fingers tips were unnaturally warm and calloused – he had always associated her with the pampered life of a noblewoman, but seeing how she spent so much time scraping in the dirt, it made sense too. She continued sitting there, content with straightening out her wielder's long hair.

"I don't think it'll be as long now," she breathed, "but the end of the journey is still over the horizon."

The contact between her fingers and his skin registered as a violation of his personal space. He stared elsewhere, but the muted glitter of the stars in the night sky through her form kept his thoughts from drifting off.

"Imagine it – our names legend through the afterlife… "

Her voice had drifted off, becoming musing in nature.

Suddenly, she snapped to attention and caught his gaze, nearly grinning with glee.

"You don't understand how _depressing_ it is to be unnoticed. But I'm not worried anymore… If you keep doing what I tell you, soon everyone will know our names." The hand in his hair tightened its grip in her fervor. "And you'll have your little captain cloak and your posh little office with hoards of adoring fans, which will make mommy proud – that _is_ what you want, right? – And I'll get the recognition as one of the most powerful Zanpaktous in the Seireitei I deserve after all these years."

Her stare bore into his skull, pinning him down into the grass.

"But that won't be possible until you give yourself to me –" The hand released his hair, trailing down towards his chest. "- in mind, spirit, _and_ body…"

He drew in a heavy breath, unnerved by the foreign turn she had steered their relationship (could it even be called that?) into.

"…Senbonzakura." The weight of the word still felt strange on his tongue.

Reveling in the terseness of the situation, she teased airily, "Were you expecting something different?"

"No. It's just as ridiculously pompous as I expected."

She smirked – back on familiar territory once again.

"I believe that's what – how do they say it – the pot calling the kettle black."

"It's unfair." He muttered indignantly. "You didn't actually tell me your name."

A carefully plucked eyebrow raised in amusement.

"What made you think I was going to in the first place?"

Withdrawing her hand and straightening up, she gave one last disdainful look at his exhausted form before disappearing.

"Don't get comfortable. We begin training once you've recovered."


	3. Casus Belli: Cause of War

**Start: **04.08.07  
**End: **09.05.07

* * *

_Senbonzakura._

_So that was her name._

If learning her name had been a challenge, then mastering her was even more difficult, and the thought of Bankai seemed a distant dream.

Senbonzakura, in giving him her name, had laid at his feet the disposal of her army. Just as a real army is reluctant to accept a change in command, the countless blades refused to bend to his will, regularly breaking out of formation to be knocked uselessly to the ground.

The soldiers at his command were not nameless peons who lived and died for him. They were the subjects of her world - given life with her power - and eternally faithful only to her.

He was the king only in name, and his subjects knew it.

* * *

The office had been renovated lately.

It was the same office that Senbonzakura had first shown her half drowning image over ten years ago, spraying a shocked Byakuya with water and freshly whet words. Back then, the room had been neglected since the early days of Byakuya's father, framed with wood darkened by age and stained with the graffiti and handprints of the Kuchiki young.

Now, freshly cut wooden boards still emitting the fresh scent of forest nights lined the walls and floors, newly replaced cloth windows glowed with the borrowed light of lamps and stars, and rugs recently imported from the distant reaches of the human world layered the floor. There were vases salvaged from ancient civilizations, cushions for the guests embroidered so delicately that the images seemed to come to life, paintings from only the most prominent masters– Everything was done possible by the clan council to celebrate Byakuya most recent promotion to the Third Seat.

Byakuya himself would have none of it.

He touched none of the fancy new items he was presented with, and even the newly replaced floorboards near where he sat seemed to have reverted back to their aged and weathered state. He refused to give up his old desk for the more lavish one, carved out of brilliant ebony wood, which now sat in corner gathering dust. His old sitting cushion was beginning to tatter with the years, and yet, he kept it.

He had situated himself across from the door, facing it dead on. Byakuya liked to be prepared, watching his guests walk slowly down the carpet towards his desk, while he brained churned out the quickest and most efficient way to make them leave. While that tactic worked with most visitors, it had failed time and time again with his most frequent guest.

Senbonzakura didn't offer him a such a luxury. She appeared randomly; an empty room when he blinked, and then present in all her glory when his eyes opened again. She started conversations before her form had solidified, and then would be gone again before finishing her thought. As much as Byakuya liked constants, Senbonzakura reveled in spontaneity.

* * *

"She seems to be a capable young woman."

It was a muggy summer night, humidity so thick that one could feel it while waving an arm through the air. Even inside, the temperatures were almost unbearable, so suffocating that even the breezes were snuffed out. Beads of condensed vapor and sweat mingled on Byakuya's skin, worsening his already gloomy mood. Hours of work later, the stack of papers – forms to sign, budgets to review, salaries to dish out – didn't seem to get any smaller.

Needless to say, Senbonzakura was _not_ welcome at the time.

Also needless to say, Senbonzakura didn't care whether she was welcome or not.

With a characteristic flourish, she appeared before the low desk and began to wander aimlessly around the room, waiting for her presence to be acknowledged. She wouldn't have to for long. After a few minute, Byakuya's subconscious decided that moving objects – even moving objects with nasty temperaments that only he could see – were more interesting than paperwork.

"There's more room elsewhere to do that."

An elegantly trimmed eyebrow arched in answer.

"Is that a cleverly hidden device to send me away?"

A faint rustle of fabrics, and suddenly Senbonzakura appeared behind him, pretending to read his increasingly messy handwriting.

"So," Senbonzakura whispered lazily in his ear, "who is she?"

Byakuya could feel her breath ghosting across his neck – breath that she wasn't supposed to have – rustling the small hairs on the back of his neck, his nerves tingling in response. Blinking in annoyance, he sat up straighter in the cushion, both to stretch his strained back and to avoid her close proximity.

Stiffly, he said, answering both questions, "I do not know what you mean."

"Please," scoffed Senbonzakura, rising, "Your mind is like a book, I can read all of your thoughts and feelings." Her countenance turning smug, she added, "You can't hide anything from me."

Byakuya was unfazed – conversations like this were all too common. "Then why bother asking me?"

She glanced at him, the barest hint of a smile gracing her lips, and a sinisterly amused glint in her eyes. Pretending to think for a moment, she said slowly, "Well, one can't exactly have a decent conversation with a book."

Byakuya pretended to ignore her, trying his hardest to focus his swirling vision into coherent blocks of kanji and numbers. He tapped his finger on the brush and the brush on the table, torn between the new series of expense reports and Senbonzakura's expectant smile.

Her voice cut through his thoughts, now with the barest edge of annoyance.

"Well?"

Byakuya mentally weighed his options: a few shreds of dignity for a few moments of peace. He looked up at Senbonzakura, still staring at him while she stood there toying with her sleeve.

"If I talk, will you go?"

"We'll see."

Sighing, he placed his brush down firmly, moves slowed with reluctance. Byakuya didn't have time for contributing to such gossip, there were much more important things to do. He turned around and faced her, wearing his usual expressionless mask.

"What do you want to know?"

"About that wretched waif of a girl you've been obsessing over, of course," she teased, "the one who looks like she will break."

"Hisana-san has poor health," Byakuya answered.

"So she does exist – and she has a name!" Senbonzakura cooed, sarcastic glee dripping off of every word, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement.

Unaffected, Byakuya said, "It wasn't as if you didn't know."

"But to hear you think it in secret is one thing, to hear you admit it out loud is another. It's a nice break from the endless droning of 'Hisana! Hisana!' in the back of our link."

Byakuya forced himself to keep his face neutral.

"Hisana-san is merely a fellow Shinigami in my division. I'm helping her to get her transfer approved."

"I thought Moira-san was in charge of transfers."

"Yes, she is."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"It isn't polite to refuse help."

"If it were anyone else, you would send them to Moira without a second thought."

"I suppose I would," he replied nonchalantly.

"If it were anyone else, you would tell them you don't have the time to waste on them because you have your own job to do, not waste time worrying about theirs."

Byakuya didn't answer.

Senbonzakura continued, her tone light, "If it were anyone else, you would have threatened to destroy any hopes of them progressing in the Gotei 13. You would've barred them from the office, you would've lectured them, you would've to stop bothering you and go do their job. You _wouldn't_ have stood there staring blankly, agreeing to fill out her forms for her when you clearly needed the time to do your own job. You wouldn't have used all your time, you wouldn't have pushed all of your work until now – you wouldn't be having this conversation with me!"

"I know exactly what I'm doing, you don't have to lecture me," Byakuya said annoyed, mentally calculating the amount of work he still had left.

"Do you?"

"You are exaggerating things. I merely put in a petition for her to transferred to the fourth."

"Nevertheless, you _are_ growing too attached to her."

"Jealous?"

Senbonzakura blinked, mouth open to fire a retort that never came. She looked indignant, eyes narrowing so severely Byakuya thought her face would crack, lips pursed into a thin line. Any less control, she would've been gaping and gasping like a fish. Byakuya found himself smirking – inwardly, of course - at her response. He continued watching as she struggled to regain her composure, surprise and confusion melting down in a steely glare.

"Don't flatter yourself," Senbonzakura almost snarled before promptly disappearing.

Going back to his work, Byakuya couldn't remember when Senbonzakura began taking an interest in his personal life, but he does remember more than enough uncomfortable interrogating conversations with her similar to the one they were having now. There was a line between nosy and downright invasive, and she was crossing it.

He didn't like to admit it, but the truth was, he _had_ been intrigued by Hisana.

Byakuya turned back towards the still unfinished report, and focused his attention in its entirety on it, determined not to be distracted again. Suddenly, he jumped as a cold prickling sensation spread through him. Looking up, he saw Senbonzakura leaning over him, the folds of her gown brushing against his bare cheek, her deceptively delicate hand pressed gently against his face.

The uncomfortable brush of skin on his face was too intimate, and her unsubstantial form made it impossible to move the offending appendage. Facing her, he couldn't decide what disturbed him more, the lights he could see flickering through her body or the strange expression on her face, a condescending mix of amusement and sadeness, which made her seem all too human.

"Senbonzakura is only looking out for you," she whispered softly, her eyes cast down, her words haunting in the familiarity of how they were spoken. Just exactly where he had heard this before, he couldn't remember.

Senbonzakura inched closer.

"Byakuya-sama," she whispered.

_Hisana?_

The way Senbonzakura said it – his name alighting from the tip of her tongue to ghost across his ears – it was exactly the same. The lilt, the inflection, the breathy whisper – so familiar! He peered closer at his sword's avatar and immediately recoiled. He flung his hand out and accidentally knocked over a bottle of ink – ruining hours of work. The black liquid pooled onto his hands and onto the floor, staining the wood and invading even the littlest creases in his palm – seemingly taking over every last part of him.

_It wasn't Hisana. _

_Only Senbonzakura._

_Only Senbonzakura creating a distorted image of the woman he—_

-- of the woman he knew.

"What are you doing?" He nearly choked on his words as he inched away slowly, hands braced on the wood floor for purchase. The translucent form in front of him slinked closer, her thick tresses falling out of its ornate braiding and curtaining over her eyes. He almost imagined smelling the cloying perfume of cherry blossoms, he could see Hisana in that part-worshiping, part-regretful smile. Suddenly, his fingers met the vertical planking of the wall, but still he kept moving, until the bumps and ridges in the wood were felt clearly through his clothing.

She averts her eyes and glances meekly through her eyelashes - the picture perfect image of a docile woman. He knew she was anything but.

"Senbonzakura is afraid."

"Of what?" he hesitantly asked, in trepidation of her answer.

She edged closer; he pressed harder against the wood.

"Senbonzakura is afraid of being replaced."

She came even closer, her face inches away from his. Byakuya felt a seeping cold spreading where her body was sitting _through_ his, moisture condensing on his chilled flesh. He wished he could pass through the thin walls that divided him from the next room, to escape her close proximity, but he also knew that it was futile. To run away from your Zanpakutou was to run away from yourself.

"Senbonzakura is worried that Byakuya-sama would be too enamored with Hisana-sama to remember the one who's always been there," she murmured against his chest, her ghostly breath freezing his own.

She looked up at him, eyes impossibly wide, and reached up to trace a thin hand along the curve of his cheek. Her touch left a trail of phantom sensations that he doesn't allow himself to brush away. She leaned closer, her voice sounding in his ear for the second time that night.

"Is this what Byakuya-sama likes?" The hand on his face threaded itself through his hair, tugging the strings that held his Keisanken together. "The slight wimper of your name accompanied by a breath on your skin? The feel of someone adoring you so completely, the wide-eyed stare she gives, riding on your every word?"

She pulled back and stared him in the eye.

"Does Byakuya-sama covet the control he lacks with Senbonzakura?"

As he stared her, not know how to respond, torn between rage and the desire to keep the last shreds of his dignity, the mask of innocence shatters and an ugly snarl takes over her porcelain doll face. She rises up, her hand still clamped like a vise on his face. Suddenly she whips her arm and knocks him to the ground. It was the only time she had been violent to him: scathing, sarcastic, bitter, yes. Violent: no.

"Byakuya-_sama_ is Senbonzakura's alone." The honorific oozed with sarcasm.

Byakuya felt her crouching over him, a predator over her prone prey, gloating right before the killing blow. She leans in and hisses, her tone more maleficent every time she referred to herself.

"Senbonzakura doesn't believe Byakuya arrived at his current position without Senbonzakura's assistance. Senbonzakura is the only important one in Byakuya's life. She is the only one Byakuya will ever need, she is the only one Byakuya will ever rely on, and she will _not_ stand to be replaced by a mortal, especially one with such a _pitiful_ background."

She shoved his head into the floor and kneeled on his back, her bony knees crushing his spine, claw-like fingers tangled in his locks.

_When did she become so… solid?_

She spoke with so much finality, so much confidence, so much dominance that it wasn't only her weight holding him down – he could've easily thrown her off – as it was her resolve, straight and piercing as stakes – plunging through him to pin him on the floor.

"Senbonzakura will _not_ relinquish her control to Hisana."

* * *

Comments and Criticism are welcome!

My interests in this story are waning. Because now I realized I would work much better as a multipart drabble.

But I will persevere! The original 9 chapters will probably be cut down to 4 or 5.


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